wilbursmith_warlock-第139章
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'There he is。' Nefer pointed to the unmistakable figure in the bows。
'And that is Ishtar beside Trok； the dog and its master。' Taita had a fierce gleam in his pale eyes that Nefer had seldom seen before。 They watched the strange pair wade ashore。
There was a stone jetty running out across the beach。 Trok mounted it。 It gave him a vantage…point from which to watch the disembarkation of the rest of his army。
'Do you see Naja's standard on any of the other ships？' Nefer asked； and Taita shook his head。
'Trok alone leads the expedition。 He must have left Naja to hold Babylon and Mesopotamia。 He has e to take care of personal business。'
'How do you know that？' Nefer demanded。
'There is an aura around him。 It is like a dark red cloud。 I can sense it even from here；' Taita said softly。 'All that hatred is focused on one person alone。 He would never let Naja or anyone else share in the lust for revenge that has brought him here。'
'I am the object of his hatred？' Nefer asked。
'No； not you。'
'Who； then？'
'Above all else he es for Mintaka。'
When the sun set； Nefer and Taita left the five troopers to shadow Trok's advance and rode hard through the night； back towards Gallala。
* * *
The morning after his landing at Safaga； Trok captured two Bedouin leading a string of donkeys down the road to Safaga。 Unsuspecting； they walked out of the desert straight into the arms of his pickets。 Trok's reputation had penetrated even into these desert fastnesses； so as soon as they learned who was their captor the Bedouin were desperate to please。 They gave Trok tantalizing accounts of the resurrection of the ancient city。 They told him of the fountain of sweet water that now flowed from the cave in the hills； and of the pastures of lush grass that surrounded Gallala。 They also gave him an estimate of the numbers of chariots that Nefer Seti manded； and Trok realized that he outnumbered his enemies five to one。 Most important of all； they gave him details of the route from Safaga to the ancient city。 Up to now Trok had had only second…hand knowledge of the approach march to Gallala； and it seemed that he had been misinformed。 He had been told that even travelling fast it was a journey of three of four days； and he had planned on carrying his own water and fodder wagons with him from the coast。 This would have been a long and laborious process。 This new intelligence changed everything。 The Bedouin assured him he could reach Gallala in a day and a night of hard riding。
He weighed the risks and dangers； then decided on a dash through the desert to Gallala to take the city by surprise。 It would mean； of course； that they would ride straight into battle with the horses exhausted by the long march and with their waterskins empty。 However； with numbers and surprise on their side they could seize the fountain…head and the pastures that the Bedouin had described。 Once they had those prizes victory was assured。
It took him two more days to disembark all his squadrons； and to assemble the chariots。 On the second evening he was ready to begin the forced march on Gallala。
With the waterskins filled； the leading cohorts pulled out of Safaga as soon as the heat went out of the sinking sun。 Each of the chariots had two spare teams behind it on lead reins。 They would not stop during the night to rest the horses； but would change them as they tired。 Any exhausted animals would be turned loose and left behind for the remount herds to bring up。
Trok led the vanguard； and set a killing pace； alternately walking up the inclines； then whipping the horses into a trot or a canter downhill and on level ground。 Once the waterskins were empty there was no turning back。 By mid…morning the following day the heat had bee fierce； and they had used up most of the spare horses。
The Bedouin guides kept assuring Trok that Gallala was not far ahead； but each time they topped a rise the same daunting vista of rock and baked earth shimmered in the heat mirage ahead。
In the late afternoon the Bedouin guides deserted。 With the grace of djinns they melted away into the heat mirage； and though Trok sent a brace of chariots after them they were never seen again。
'I warned you；' Ishtar the Mede told Trok smugly。 'You should have listened to my advice。 Those godless creatures were probably in the pay of Taita the Warlock。 Almost certainly he has masked the road； and led us astray。 We do not know how far it is to this mythical Gallala； or for that matter if it really exists。' For this uninvited opinion； Trok lashed him across his tattooed face。 This did nothing to alleviate the sense of doom and despondency that threatened to overwhelm Trok。 He whipped up the horses once more and took them up the next long； stony incline that faced them。 He wondered how many more lay ahead。 They were almost at the end of their tether； and he doubted they could keep going through the night。
Somehow they kept struggling onwards； or at least most of his force did。 Fifty or sixty chariots burned out their last teams of horses； and Trok left them scattered back along the road。
The sun came up on the second day； warm as a kiss after the chill of the night； but it was a treacherous kiss。 Soon it stung and dazzled their bloodshot eyes。 For the first time Trok faced the possibility of dying here on this dreadful road to nowhere。
'One more hill；' he called to his last team of horses； and tried to whip them into a trot； but they stumbled up the easy incline with their heads hanging； and the sweat long ago dried to white salt on their flanks。 Just below the crest Trok looked back down the straggling column of his army。 Even without counting them he saw that he had lost half of his chariots。 Hundreds of dismounted troopers were staggering along behind the column； but even as he watched he saw two or three fall and lie beside the track like dead men。 There were vultures in the sky following them； hundreds of dark specks turning in high circles against the blue。 He saw some slant down to the feast he had prepared for them。
There is only one way；' he told Ishtar； 'and that is forward。' He cracked the whip over the backs of his team； and they went on painfully。
They reached the top of the hill； and Trok gawked in astonishment。 The scene in the valley below him was like nothing he had ever imagined。 The ruins of the ancient city rose before him。 Their outline seemed ghostly but eternal。 As he had been promised； the city was surrounded by fields of cool green； and a network of sparkling water canals。 His horses smelt the water and strained against the reins with renewed strength。
Even in his desperate haste； Trok took time to assess the tactical situation。 He saw at once that the city was helpless and undefended。 The gates stood wide open and from them poured the panic…stricken rabble of the escaping populace。 Carrying their children and pathetic bundles of possessions they streamed away up the narrow but steep…sided valley to the west of Gallala。 A few foot…soldiers mingled with the refugees； but they were obviously in rout and out of hand。 There was no sign of cavalry or of fighting chariots。 They were a flock of sheep before the wolf pack； but the wolves were parched and weak with thirst。
'Seueth has delivered them into our hands；' Trok shouted with triumph。 'Before the sun sets this day you will have more women and gold than you can use！'
The cry was taken up by the men who followed him over the ridge； and they rode down as fast as their exhausted horses could move to the first irrigation ditch。 They spread out along the length of it； the horses sucking up the blessed liquid until their bellies swelled as though in pregnancy。 The men threw themselves full…length along the bank； plunging their faces under； or filling their helmets and pouring it over their heads and down their throats。
* * *
'You should have let me poison the irrigation canals；' Nefer said flatly； as they watched from the other side of t
